Just Give Me A Reason
by cutepet
Summary: Molly and Sherlock discover they're pregnant the night before she's supposed to meet his parents for the first time. They argue about it; do they want the same things from this relationship?


"_Oh My," Crystal exclaimed as she took in Jonathan's impressive, throbbing member. "Will that fit in me?"_

"_Don't worry, darlin'," he responded in that thick Texas drawl she'd grown to love, "it'll feel real good."_

Molly sighed and put her book down, turning her gaze out the window. The upside down lilac bells of the foxglove freckled the picturesque English countryside that sped by, but Molly couldn't appreciate it as she normally did.

She'd brought the trashy novel to distract her during the trip to Leicester to meet Sherlock's parents, but she'd read the same dialogue ten times. The trip wasn't cooperating, either. A two-hour trip turned into four after morning traffic kept them in London longer than expected. She would turn to her companion, but after the argument last night, conversation was out of the question.

She wasn't even mad at him, not anymore. He had every right to be mad at her; in fact, she didn't know why he still wanted this meeting. The fight was her fault, after all.

_Molly had been careless, leaving the bathroom door wide open while she sat there, on the lid of her toilet, staring at the positive result. They had only started dating two months ago! They didn't live together, nor had they even said they loved each other. Molly was sure he would soon become bored, leaving her to move on to the next big rush. Now she was pregnant? They were always safe. What would she do? She could have the pregnancy terminated - would she even have to tell him? She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to keep this baby, a special bundle with Sherlock's curls and her - her father's - eyes. Molly was still staring at the cursed stick when Sherlock entered her flat with his usual brisk manner. She couldn't hide the test fast enough; he saw her movements and the damage had been done._

_The rest was all a blur, and she said things she didn't truly mean. In the end, Sherlock purposefully strode to the front door, opening it before turning to her, his gaze softened somewhat. "Will you need extra time in the morning… that is, have you been…"_

"_No, I don't have any morning sickness yet."_

"_Good," he steeled himself with a deep breath, "Good… I will be here to pick you up at 8 am, as planned," then he was gone with a slam. Molly cried herself to sleep._

Sherlock stopped the car outside a red brick country cottage, surrounded by rose blooms that were meticulously cared for. The doting figures that appeared on the steps didn't match her previous assumptions of the cold couple she pictured were responsible for Mycroft and Sherlock's … odd behavior. Of course, she had in recent months become more aware of Sherlock's affectionate side, now on display as he gathered his beaming mother in a loving hug. "Sorry we're late, Mummy."

"Oh Sherlock! So good to see you," she released him, turning toward Molly and pulling her into another hug with just as much warmth. "You must be Molly. Aren't you lovely." Behind her, a tall man with Sherlock's cheekbones appeared, beaming at all and sundry. "Now," Mrs. Holmes began as she released Molly, "come inside, I've just made lunch."

* * *

"_We'll need to be married immediately, no getting around it."_

"_Don't inconvenience yourself, Sherlock. You're not as indispensable as you think you are."_

"_If you think you can raise our child without me…"_

"_I'll have to get along without you eventually, won't I? I'm just another high for you but soon I won't be good enough. You'll move on."_

Molly woke with a small intake of breath, dazed at first, but then remembering she'd fallen asleep on the overstuffed couch in Mr. and Mrs. Holmes' dark green den.

"_Oh, dear, you must call me Mummy."_

Molly shook off the memory. She didn't know how permanent all this was. As much as her heart always yearned for a mother figure in her life, and as much as she needed motherly advice now, she knew better than to get attached.

_But that hug felt so good._

"Tea, dear?" She looked up as Mr. Holmes entered with a tray. Could she still drink tea?

"Uh, no, thank you, Mr. -"

"Peter! Please, and I insist. It's chamomile," he set the tray down, sitting opposite Molly before going through the steps of serving tea as though they were second nature to him. "So, have you told my son?"

"I'm sorry?" Molly's heart skipped a beat, then sped up, "Told him what?"

"About the baby." She stared at him, color draining from her face. "Oh, dear. Here, take a few sips. That's right. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me, I won't tell him."

"Oh, no you don't understand - he knows," she placed the cup and saucer onto the table, feeling slightly better, "We just… we haven't come to any decisions yet, that's all. We haven't had the time."

"Oh, I see," he nodded genially, and Molly realised how much like her own father he was.

"How did you know?"

"Oh, I always knew with Mrs. Holmes. It's a certain glow. Of course, I've never seen you before so I dismissed it at first, but then… I don't think you realise how often you touched your stomach during lunch. You're doing it now," she pulled her hand back from her abdomen guiltily and Peter laughed, "you barely ate your food, and then you took a two and a half hour nap and I knew for sure," her eyes widened.

"Two and a half hours?" She had been tired after last night, but surely not that tired. "Where's Sherlock?"

Again, he laughed, "He watched you like a mother hen for a little over an hour. I think he wanted to retreat into his… oh, what does he call it? His 'mind palace,'" he said with a small snap of his fingers, "but he was so aware of every sound and movement you made, he couldn't concentrate. I believe he went to the shed out back."

Molly finished her cup as quickly as she could, "Thank you so much, Mr. - Peter, for the tea. I should go out there," she moved towards the door, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Don't worry, dear," he said, all seriousness in his eyes, "no matter what happens, no matter what you decide. Everything will be okay."

* * *

Molly opened the door with a creak. Sherlock was sitting in the corner, on an old stool. The dust settling on the workbench was stirred again by her entrance. The only sign he noticed her was a movement of his head away from the door and the slight crinkling of the faded, silver B&N package in his left hand. Funny, it didn't smell like Sherlock was smoking out here.

She walked up, gently removing his fingers from the plastic, "This is an outdated design. The kind my father smoked, and he stopped smoking in the late nineties. Old stash?"

"Yes. It seems stopping didn't help your father. Lung cancer still got him in the end."

She choked back an angry retort, then slapped the fags into his palm, turning abruptly to leave.

"No, stop," Sherlock grabbed her arm, much like his father earlier, only desperation added extra pressure, "stay. I'm sorry," he released her as she pulled away.

Molly rubbed her arm, but didn't leave. He genuinely looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, too," she began, "about last night. I shouldn't have brought up the drug use, but, I'm just… I'm just so scared! You've never even said you love me, and now you say you want to get married? I refuse to be an obligation, and I won't let my child be the same. I don't think we should make any hasty decisions about marriage. You're all for this now, you enjoy the pleasure when we're together, but you can't possibly want this forever."

As she spoke, she saw Sherlock's face turn from pleading to angry. "Is that what you think? That all I want from you is sex?" He grabbed her again, by both arms this time, and pulled her close. His eyes searched hers briefly before his lips descended in a bruising kiss.

Molly pulled his head down, returning the kiss with equal fervor. He opened his mouth to her tongue, and she bit his lip. She was angry too, after all. She wanted him to marry her for her, not out of obligation.

He tore his lips away, focusing his attention on her neck while his hands pulled her cream shirt out of her salmon maxi skirt, briefly fingering her nipples through the cotton bra before breaking contact to remove the blouse completely. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he hastily removed it the rest of the way, carelessly throwing it into the corner.

Sherlock moved back to speak lowly in her ear, "You know what they say about insecurities, Molly," he bit her earlobe, "they're just projections," he turned her around, placing her hands on the workbench, "you must only want the sex, too," he bit her collarbone, then started gathering the skirt in his hands while she moaned under his ministrations. Then, keeping the skirt bunched in one hand, Molly heard Sherlock undo his belt and zipper with the other.

Before he entered her, though, he tucked the skirt into her waistband, then lowered to his knees. He fingered the lacy edge of her pants, then snapped the elastic against her hip. She heard the fabric tear as he pulled her knickers aside, then completely off, leaving her bare to his gaze.

Sherlock leaned forward, inhaling deeply. "I love the way you smell when you want me, Molly," he moved closer, nudging her folds open, making her shiver in anticipation. He licked the mixture of sweat and juices beading on her inner thigh, then firmly grasped her bum, pulling the cheeks apart, forcing her to widen her stance.

He buried his face in her, licking her labia minora with sweeps of his hot tongue, circling, narrowing his field with every pass, then reversing the process when he came to the middle, while she squirmed above him. "Sherlock," she breathed, clinching the worktop.

He stopped long enough to reply, "Louder, Molly," then set back to work, holding her tighter, moving his tongue faster, but still not touching her clit. Molly felt her juices, mingled with Sherlock's saliva, run down her legs.

"Sherlock," she said, undulating against his face, "get on with it!"

He pulled back, once again licking the moisture from her thighs, squeezing the flesh, moaning with the taste. "Beg."

"Please, I need…"

"I know what you need," he growled before once again pressing his face back into her dripping cunt, this time directing his attack at her clit. Molly cried out as he circled it in his mouth. She never knew the exact techniques he employed, only that he quickly learned the right pressure, the right pattern to…

Molly felt the soft wood beneath her fingernails as she dug them into the countertop, crying out her release. Sherlock pulled away, wiped his face, and stood up. She could feel his erection brush against her bum briefly before he reached between her legs. He resumed his position, and Molly heard him stroke himself with her juices, preparing to enter her.

She was still so wet, it only took Sherlock three strokes to be completely seated inside her. He grabbed Molly's hips bruisingly, making her gasp as he started pumping furiously. It didn't take long for her to begin pushing back into him at the same grueling pace, the only sound her breathy moans, his grunts, and the slap of flesh meeting flesh. She reached down with her right hand, rubbing her clit as she felt the stirrings of another orgasm. Suddenly, he stopped.

Still fully erect and deep inside her, he eased his grip, leaning forward to lay his head between her shoulder blades. He was panting. "I don't want to fight. I love you."

Molly was speechless, only able to moan as they adjusted their positions; she brought her legs in slightly, grabbing the workbench with both hands again as she raised up on the balls of her feet. He leaned further forward, placing his left hand next to hers, his mouth breathing heavy into her neck. His right hand came up, underneath her bra, to grasp her breast firmly while he started up again, rocking gently into her now.

"Marry me," he whispered into her ear, picking up the pace slightly.

"Sherlock."

"You may not love me right now, but marry me, please," his finger picked up pace against her nipple, matching his thrusts. "I need you."

"Oh," she responded, thoughts flittering in and out of her mind as his left hand grasped hers, his right arm coming down to support her around the middle as he pulled them into a half-sitting position, rotating his pelvis, his movements shallow but rapid and swiftly bringing her to climax.

"Yes!" Molly threw her head back against Sherlock's shoulder.

"Yes, what," he asked through gritted teeth, driving deeper once again, chasing his own peak as her spasms began.

"Yes, I love you. Yes, I'll marry you," she cried. Sherlock bit her neck as he came, his ejaculate running down the inside of Molly's leg, mingling with the sweat on his thighs. He licked the bite to soothe the reddening flesh, then gently pulled them up, separating their bodies.

Molly adjusted her skirt and bra, grabbing the blouse from the table and pulling the bow out of her hair to straighten it. She looked at Sherlock, pulling, then zipping up, his trousers. His dress shirt was soaked through. "We can't walk in there looking like this."

Sherlock looked down, as if he only just realized how messy they'd been. "Right," he ran his fingers through his hair, "right, well. I know how to sneak us in. We'll shower, and I have some old clothes you can wear." He threw on his jacket and ushered her out of the shed before she could bring up any objections she had to the plan.

* * *

He snuck her in through the kitchen door, and up the backstairs. Distraction lead to a longer shower, but as Sherlock pointed out, Molly was a very dirty girl. They made their way downstairs an hour later, beaming at each other, and dressed in clothes that hung loose on her and tight on him.

"Oh, Peter, look at them. He finally asked you then, did he?"

Molly stopped, stunned. He must've called his mother the night before, explaining everything. She flushed, embarrassment and irritation sitting like lead in the pit of her stomach.

"Er, yes, Mummy. I did," he leaned toward his mother, kissing her on the forehead.

"And you said yes? Oh, good. I can give you this now," she pulled a box out of a nearby writing desk, brushing it off then handing it first to Molly, who didn't take it, then to Sherlock. "I had the size adjusted, just as you asked. Oh, I'm so glad you brought her to meet me first," she came forward, grasping Molly's face in her two hands, "I can't think of anyone better to wear my mother's ring. When Sherlock called me last week about it, I knew you had to be special," she was pulled into the bone-crushing, motherly hug she'd always wanted as a child, "and I was right," she whispered in her ear before pulling away.

_Last week? But, that means..._

Suddenly, she understood. Molly looked to Peter, who just grinned back. When she turned to Sherlock, he pulled her into a tight embrace, and kissed her chastely before smiling at her with the love that had always been in his eyes, gone unnoticed before. How had she missed that?

"I love you," he said with a radiating smile, hand resting peacefully over her stomach.

"I know," and she finally did.


End file.
